


Let Me Paint You a Picture

by ead13



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, expressing angst through art, one reality is ex lavellan/solas, pick your reaction to the reveal, varying realities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: After the events of Trespasser, Lavellan has a lot to think about and needs an outlet.Based on two separate prompts, one where the Inquisitor paints over Solas's frescos in rage, and one where the Inquisitor adds their own panel to the fresco.





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, take your pick of reality. I'll tell you mine at the end.

It took a long time to make it back from Halamshiral. Besides the obvious complex negotiating of politics (why was it so complicated considering she’d chosen to disband the Inquisition just as those idiot nobles wanted?), there was the added difficulty of dealing with the loss of her left arm. She’d needed rest as her body began to mend itself from the damage the mark had left, and she’d barely been in her right mind from the painkillers she’d needed to deal with the aftermath. The only consolation was that everything below her elbow had withered away, meaning there was no need for an actual amputation. One way or another, it took a toll on her physically.

That was saying nothing of the mental and emotional toll. It was almost laughable how outrageous the situation had become. People thought their exes were bad? Hers was a mage so powerful and vilified that he had been made a trickster god among the Dalish people. Her people. She’d fallen in love with her culture’s sworn enemy! Of course, they themselves were so mixed up that they had somewhere down the line deified entirely mortal, albeit long-lived, mages and forgotten that the markings they willingly put on themselves represented slave markings by said overlords. Any silver lining to the fact that Fen’Harel had actually acted as a savior and not a trickster was completely nullified by the fact that he intended to tear down the veil and let the world burn with the conviction that this would rectify all that was wrong with it.

Yeah, thinking about all of it made her dizzy, it wasn’t just the residual effects of the mark. But hey, the mark had been his fault as well! Was there no end to the cruel twists of fate? The ride back to Skyhold had actually seemed shorter as she sifted through everything between falling in and out of sleep.

Now, after a solid month, she was finally back in her keep, and it was quieter than she ever remembered it being. Josie had sent word ahead advising the workers of the Inquisition’s imminent disbanding so they could begin to seek out other employment, and the place that once buzzed with activity felt eerily still. It didn’t help that her Inner Circle had diminished to Cassandra, Cullen, Josie, and Cole, with all the others pursuing their own endeavors. A few remaining servants began collecting her bags to take them to her quarters once the carriage rolled to a stop, but Lavellan was out and hurrying to the Great Hall before any could ask her questions about her arm or her decisions.

That wasn’t quite right. She did not head to the Great Hall with her throne, the ornate seat which meant nothing now that the Inquisition was no more, nor did she bask before the hearth and absorb the magnificent stonework meant to instill awe in the visitors that would no longer come. Instead, she veered to the right and entered the rotunda. Solas’s domain.


	2. Vindictive Reality

Ever since he’d broken their relationship, she’d kept her distance. It was too painful. Ellana had believed that they had something special, proved by all the things he shared with her that he shared with no one else. Besides that, what else was she supposed to think based on the way he’d passionately kissed her in the Fade, then again on her balcony? Apparently she had been doing more wishful thinking than realistic thinking. Solas had always been wrapped up in himself; he would never be capable of sustaining relationships. But damn it all, why had he led her on just to crush her by suddenly pulling away and leaving her to fall? It was actually a relief when he’d disappeared after the final showdown with Corypheus. 

Well, if it was a sore area before the revelations at Halamshiral, it was now a crushing pain that rivaled even the mark as it nearly consumed her. The bastard was Fen’Harel, and he had strung them along worse than even Thom Rainier! He’d caused the entire ordeal with the rifts. It was his toy that marked her and caused her to shoulder all the responsibility she never wanted, nearly culminating with her death. His dislike for her people went even further than she’d ever thought; his plans revealed that he saw them as little more than ants, while this mortal viewed himself as the god they believed him to be. The hubris was sickening, and suddenly his name became even more fitting. Yet he had the gall to pursue her, one of these lesser elves, knowing his plans would not include her in them!

At this moment, finally back in his study, she took in all of his frescos and felt the flames of her wrath boil over. He’d painted these scenes detailing the Inquisition’s efforts as if he actually cared about them. What a load of shit! He’d just made it very clear that if they all died thanks to his efforts at reshaping the world, it was a price he was willing to pay. All of it, just like all of him, was a lie, and she would not suffer having it remain on the walls of HER castle. Yes, Solas may have led them there, but she was going to officially claim it.

Burning the entire wing down would feel good, but would also be entirely impractical. Whitewashing it, then? Pretending he had never touched a paintbrush to those walls, his presence here erased? A better plan, but still not enough. What would infuriate him more? Slowly, a twisted smile creeped over her features. Not only would she paint over it, she would deliberately rewrite their story from her perspective without him in it. He’d already been forgotten once, and it ate at him that no one remembered his sacrifices on their behalf. Do it again, let him remain the villain they believed him to be with no redemption. He’d made that choice despite her pleas. He’d damned himself.

So, not even changed out of her traveling clothes and still adapting to having only one arm (thankfully her dominant one), she began the slow process of pulling out paints from his desk drawers. Perhaps it would be easier if she got help, but this was personal, and she now had all the time in the world.

It took months, and she did have to take breaks to deal with Inquisition business before they officially made a split, but gradually her vision took shape. When all was said and done, the tip of her brush leaving her signature in gold on the final panel, she was pleased to note that unlike the smug bastard’s abstract depictions meant for only the intellectual, hers would be easily interpreted by all who saw it. It was her story, after all, and she would be the one telling it, not him.

She began with a humble Dalish elf lying unconscious outside a rift. She’d even made it the CORRECT color, unlike the so-called expert… Her vallaslin to Mythal was prominent on her face, a sign of her treasured heritage that she’d refused to forfeit despite Solas’s explanation. She was surrounded by people, but she did not try to soften what they had been feeling. Her bystanders were angry, fearful, brandishing swords at her despite her helpless state. Cassandra was there, and so was Leliana, both with stern looks. Of course, her hand was reaching out, extended to show the mark that had taken hold.

The panel where they had liberated the mages had always bothered her with its oversimplification of events. Instead of just showing the end result, she decided to depict herself falling through a rift with Dorian into the twisted future of red lyrium, then falling back to the present to hold Alexius at staff-point while frightened-looking mages watched. That was what they were, after all, helpless individuals who couldn’t even be agents in their own fate. They were not given autonomy within the Inquisition because they couldn’t operate without guidance.

The Skyhold panel in particular irked her, seeing as Solas had been the one to lead them there. Now it was clear that the jerk had known about its existence from his past life all those ages ago. Forget him. She depicted a weary band of refugees struggling through the snow with herself in the lead, surrounded by Cullen, Cassandra, and Leliana, who were verifying their route with maps and ravens. Atop a peak higher up in the panel, craftsmen and laborers were working on repairing the old fortress’s walls under Josie’s supervision. Solas may have located it, but they were the ones that made it theirs, put in the work to restore it to its former glory, perhaps made it even better than it was in his time.

It took a lot of willpower not to blatantly show what had happened in Halamshiral, lest it reveal the secret arrangement she had brokered and cause problems for the current governing body. While painting herself in all her finery knighting the elf, Briala, as sole ruler of Orlais was tempting, she opted instead to show Celene and Briala side by side before the Orlesian throne, with the Inquisitor and her team of Cassandra and Cole (Solas had been there, but that was part of the story she was going to omit, naturally) watching on from the wings. She did, however, leave a vague hint when she put a knife in Briala’s hand and intentionally angled it towards Celene. Florian’s and Gaspard’s masks lay cracked on the floor, the heel of Ellana’s boot still crushing them.

Adamant meant very little to her. The Wardens had been stupid, but they weren’t evil. She didn’t have strong connections to either Stroud or Hawke. The most fascinating part had been falling into the Fade, so that was what she chose to paint, the small team of herself, Stroud, Hawke, Bull and Blackwall (not mentioning Solas!) navigating the twisted world filled with demons and spirits. The towering form of the fear demon lurked in the dark background as they explored. Ellana was kind enough not to paint Bull with a look of terror, however! Atop the scenery of the Fade, she added a Warden kneeling before her as she held out her hand in pardon. A lone sword was planted in the ground, representing Stroud’s sacrifice.

When Ellana got to the panel about the Arbor Wilds and the Temple of Mythal, it occurred to her how much it must have vexed Solas to have that human apostate hypothesizing about things he knew full well but couldn’t share. Probably killed him to let her drink from the Well of Sorrows too. Morrigan, Sera, and Varric (and definitely NOT Solas) were painted in the background arches of the temple while she and Abelas spoke, surrounded by Mythal’s reawakened disciples. For the first time, she depicted herself in a position of deference before the ancient elf as he explained about the meaning and purpose of the complex. She also made sure to include representations of the trials she’d completed as patterns around the image, and her vallaslin was matched by designs on the walls. She had, after all, dedicated herself to Mythal back in her days with clan Lavellan.

There was one section of the fresco left unfinished. From what she could tell from the light sketches on the wall, he had intended to paint a wolf mourning over the body of a dead dragon, sword still planted into it. The wolf was obviously Fen’Harel, but who was the dragon? The Inquisition? Corypheus? Either way, she was able to begin her final portion quickly without having to paint over any existing work, and it included every one of her companions except for him marching to battle with her at the lead. Only Josie and Leliana were left behind, Josie gesturing towards the enemy with her quill and Leliana summoning a murder of crows. Standing before the company over the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes were not one, but two figures: a red-lyrium dragon representing Corypheus, and the same wolf he had drawn, but with fangs bared. It was both a history and a hope for the future, that all of her companions together could tackle any threat.

When she finished, she felt a bit of remorse that there wasn’t just a little more space for an additional panel. Something about ignoring the collapse of the organization and her loss of her arm seemed like a lie. After some time of debating internally, she added a small version of herself in the mountains beneath where her enemies were depicted. She portrayed herself with the amputation, and this tiny figure could be seen tossing away the charter of the Inquisition with her functioning arm. It was the end of her story with the Inquisition, though not the end of her. Where was she turning to? The brush hovered as she contemplated. All she knew was what she was turning away from at this point. Perhaps someday she could return and add a destination.

There was no time left to be brooding and painting. She may not know what she wanted for herself, but she did know there was a megalomaniac out to destroy the world and she would love nothing more than to have her vengeance. What little paint that remained was stowed away, and all the brushes cleaned one by one, and before leaving she studied her work, burning it into her memory. Perhaps it would show up in her dreams, and a certain Dread Wolf would take note of what she had done. As much as she hated the thought of him invading her privacy, she hoped he would. Solas would rue the day he gave up love for the sake of his own misguided agenda.

Ellana Lavellan turned from the rotunda and made her exit. It was time to stop chronicling events of the past and to start creating more events. Hopefully his downfall would be next on the list.


	3. Unfaltering Reality

Why did she come straight here? She knew that being in her lover’s study would only serve to sadden her, even more so now that she knew his grudging intentions to remake the world. Ellana couldn’t help it. Over the months they’d spent calling Skyhold home, this had always been the place she’d come seeking counsel and comfort amidst the swirling chaos of human politics, and instincts were hard to break.

Seeing his art still on the walls grounded her just as it always had. Slowly, as if in a trance, she walked around the room, tracing each panel of his frescos with her only hand. Surely it wasn’t too late to change his mind. He was already showing hesitation. Why, the look on his face that night he broke things off with her after explaining the vallaslin… It was impossible to understand at the time, but it all made sense now; he wanted her, but felt it was his duty to see his plan through. Even in their last reunion, having to explain to her his end goal seemed to take superhuman strength. She was not convinced he wouldn’t cave with more pressure. Besides, how could he say these people meant nothing to him after painting each of these frescos with pain-staking detail for the Inquisition? She suspected he began to care more than he had ever intended.

Ellana paused when she reached the blank portion. A memory stirred, of a day not long before the final battle with Corypheus and Solas’s disappearance, the day he’d offered her the paintbrush and a chance to add to the fresco. She’d refused without thinking, afraid that her less-than-adept skills in painting would ruin the effect of his masterpiece. Solas had looked disappointed, but did not press her. Now, she wondered if her refusal had injured her cause. What if she hadn’t been so self-conscious? Could she have changed his mind? It was a shame, because she had plenty of ideas for it. When she closed her eyes, the entire wall was filled with her hopes for the future, something Solas could never capture himself.

Ellana reopened her eyes with a sad smile. Perhaps it was too late, perhaps he’d never know, but what did she have to lose by trying? It would be even more challenging now that she’d lost her left arm, but with the Inquisition was disbanded and her advisors scrambling to devise a plan to counter Solas, there wasn’t much else to do anyhow. She knew just where he kept his paints and brushes. Time to put them to use.

It took over a week to get it right, and even then it looked drastically different from his stark, geometric style. Not once did she ask for help; this was a personal project, and she would see it through. First and foremost, she took his words to heart: document a part of her journey. Her journey and his were bound together, yet not once had he included himself in any of the designs. She strove to remedy that by showing the night that changed things forever, him and her down by the lake in the light of the moon, his hands ghosting over her face as he removed her vallaslin. They both hungered for knowledge and truth, that was why they felt so natural together, so this was one of the most meaningful gifts he could have offered her. Her clan would never believe her, of course, but there was no turning back knowing what she knew now about the culture she had once cherished.

The harder part was capturing the reflection in the water. She knew she was messing up perspective by choosing to do this, yet she could devise no better way to show what she intended. Her reflection in the water wore her best suit of Nevarrite armor in place of the travel clothes of her counterpart, her physical appearance altered by removing her entire vallaslin and her left arm so she appeared as she did currently. Solas, however… She could still see him as he looked at their last meeting in his gleaming golden armor, no longer wearing the “hobo” getup of a simple apostate, but something befitting a figure of legend. The pelt draped across his shoulder served to remind those near him just who he was. That was the Solas she reflected in the water. That was the glimpse of his true identity.

There they were, a man and a woman like any other yet two immensely powerful figures underneath. It was probably fantasy, but she also made one additional change in the water’s surface: his hands held no magical glow, but physically touched her face in a tender gesture. It was what he had been trying to express with this act, hadn’t it?

In the end, there was little more she could add, and Ellana knew it was a poor excuse for a painting. Any viewer would instantly question its addition to the otherwise fine gallery. That didn’t matter. She simply hoped against all hope that as she drifted into the Fade that night, he would see the painting emblazoned within her psyche and know how she truly felt. That it would speak to his heart.

In the meantime, she had a Dread Wolf to hunt down on this side of the Fade, lest the other, understandably more upset hunters find him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was obvious after reading both realities, but I definitely felt more affinity to the angry outcome.
> 
> To be honest, I have only ever found Solas tolerable at best, and an absolute jerk at worst (the superiority complex is insufferable). Why did I even take these prompts? Trying to push myself as an author, I guess! Thank goodness for youtube videos of the romance I could reference, because I have never actually done this romance in a game.


End file.
